


It Is What It Is

by JulianObviouslyLovesToad



Category: Ring of Honor
Genre: Bathing/Washing, M/M, Potentially Offensive Ponderings, Questioning one's sexuality, Threesome - M/M/M, mentions of sibling incest
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-11-04
Updated: 2015-11-04
Packaged: 2018-04-29 20:24:25
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 9,286
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5141372
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/JulianObviouslyLovesToad/pseuds/JulianObviouslyLovesToad
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Dalton reflects on his relationship with his boys, and they take care of him after a particularly rough day at work.</p>
            </blockquote>





	It Is What It Is

Dalton loves his boys.  
  
It’s such a weird thing to think about, too. The sweet, young things – just over ten years difference between them, and that almost makes him feel old – curl up against him every chance they get, whether their faces are pressed into his neck or side, or if they let their legs or elbows barely brush against his while they play cards or scream at and taunt each other over the sound of simulated gunfire. That same sound rang out around the hotel room on that night, Brandon bouncing about on the end of the bed, quietly cursing at whatever pixels were giving him issues. Brent, however, was sitting at the table at the bedside, chair pulled up close so his chest was pressed against the rounded edge, a pencil in hand, sketching away at a sheet of paper. Brandon would draw too, quite frequently, but tonight he felt more like taking out some aggression on imaginary enemy soldiers, growling under his breath, trying – and failing – to not move around too much to cause the older man to be jostled. _He’s upset that I’m in pain, the sweetheart,_ Dalton thought, laying on his stomach on the queen sized bed, one side of his mouth quirked in a half-smirk.  
  
He was in pain; a lot of it, to be frank. But that wasn’t strange in any sense of the word after a match like the one he’d had tonight. He couldn’t count how many times he’d been thrown out of the ring, and wasn’t really looking forward to watching it back when it went out over the airwaves. Usually, out was his favorite place to be thrown, what with the soft padding that covered the floors and all. Well, it wasn’t that soft, he supposed, but certainly softer and far more giving than the ring itself. But, the padding had been pulled up for show – _for ‘show’_ , Dalton thought with a derisive snort, _Clearly Adam has it out for me_ \- and his back had hit the cold, unforgiving concrete at least twice. He knows Adam Page doesn’t have it out for him, knows the other is generally a good guy, maybe a little overenthusiastic and a bit too close to desperate to impress for his taste, but Dalton doesn’t actually think the younger man meant to leave him in this much pain. The way he snorted, his face buried in his arms, the pillowcase brushing his lips as he grimaced at the memory of hitting the hard flooring, drew the attention of one of his boys.  
  
“You okay?” Brent asked, shifting in his chair to look at Dalton, pencil to his lips. Brandon pauses his game and looks over too, and though Dalton can’t see him, only Brent as he turned his head in the younger twin’s direction, he can feel the other’s gaze, and it’s kind of intense in the sudden silence with the lack of the game music.  
  
“I’m fine,” Dalton answers, even though he kinda wants to play up his pain just a little bit, because he loves it when his boys dote on him. He loves it when Brent holds an icepack to his bruises and swollen parts, the young man’s other hand smoothing his hair back, holding it out of his eyes like he’s nursing a drunk – and that always made Dalton wonder about his past, their pasts, how they behaved with him – whispering sweet nothings and promises of the pain going away soon, and just to be patient. He loves it when Brandon – the mother hen he is, no matter how much he tries to deny it (and he does) – gladly rubs something like IcyHot on his back or knees or arms, really digging into the sore muscles, practically cooing kind words when Dalton groans in pain. Brandon tries to feed him, to make sure he keeps up with his supplements even when Dalton feels like saying ‘fuck the world’ and doing nothing but sleeping for the next ten or twelve hours. Yes, he definitely likes being babied by his boys, which is something he’d never actually given any thought before they’d started this gimmick. Even after, at least, until the boys pushed him on it a bit, he hadn’t thought of it as more than just a gimmick. Something fun for the fans, and another excuse to indulge his flamboyant side.  
  
“If you’re sure,” Brent said, staring at him for a moment longer with a look of concern. Dalton gave him a small smile and that seemed to put the younger man at ease. When he turned back to his drawing, Brandon went back to his game, and Dalton buried his face in his arms, once more letting his lips brush the pillow, a silent sigh passing his lips.  
  
The brunette thought about the events that led to him taking comfort in the sounds of video game murder, of a pencil scratching over a piece of paper again and again, that led to him falling asleep to the sounds of shuffling cards and the quiet clinking sounds of the little gems they used in their card games – damage counters, they called them. He suspected it started with the boys realizing that Dalton had strange hotel standards compared to the rest of the roster.  
  
It wasn’t that he preferred high class surroundings, no, the decadence was just a gimmick. But he did like quiet when he was trying to sleep. Some of his colleagues, he discovered early on, liked to keep the party going until the sun came up. Not that he had a problem with that, or with what someone else wanted to do, but he liked to turn in around two or three in the morning. Dalton liked to get a few hours of sleep before leaving the hotel at seven-thirty to catch a ten AM flight. He’d tried to manage sleeping on the plane before, but any conversation or interesting happening would distract him from the off-key siren’s song of sleep. So, he would, when the company-paid hotel room had inadequate walls or if too many of the guys were concentrated on one end of the hallway, simply find another hotel room. Maybe on a different floor, maybe in another hotel. Of course he stayed to socialize, but around two or so, he’d say his goodbyes to his drunk colleagues and head off to get some sleep, sure they’d had enough of his particular brand of crazy during the day.  
  
But, apparently, a couple people hadn’t. The Tate twins seemed to find him to be the most interesting person they’d ever met. It struck him as strange how they hovered around him, always happy just to be in his presence, gabbing with whoever would come by and strike up conversation with the group. He didn’t really find it strange that they enjoyed his company, because he knew he could be a rather charismatic individual when he wanted to be, but what he found strange was that they hung around with him as their sort of… protector from newbie hazing. Not that newbie hazing was particularly rough in Ring of Honor - just some rough hair ruffling and playful shoving. Maybe, on rare occasions, someone would switch out someone’s tights for an embarrassing pair (but only for dark matches, never for a TV taping, thankyouverymuch). At worst, someone would sneak sex toys into someone’s bag and snap a picture of the horrified and embarrassed look on their faces as they realized just what that hard lump in their bag was. The fact that they hung around someone who was only two months more established in the company than they were, as their defense against hazing no less, was what struck him as weird. He’d tried to point them in the direction of AJ Styles at first. The guy hardly ever raised his voice at anyone unless he saw, well, newbie hazing (or violence against women, but that was a story he’d reflect on another time). Roderick Strong was another one of those guys he’d tried to push the boys off on after hours, admittedly assuming the young things, just barely in their twenties, would cramp his style, and Roddy was better equipped with the same Southern-boy-hospitality-and-care for everyone as AJ had, that had gained them a reputation as protectors of newbies. He tried one last time with Kyle O’Reilly to rid himself of The Boys after they left the arena, but Kyle, the kind asshole he was, had misinterpreted him trying to introduce the boys to him as a cry for help of his own. Bless his little heart. That led to a debacle that he didn’t really want to think about, lounging in his room with his permanent attachments in their own worlds. When he finally relented to the mostly quiet (they chatted in hushed tones and smiled a lot, which had admittedly freaked him out quite a bit at first) company of the twins, he wondered why he’d resisted at all.  
  
He quickly found out that, though they pretty much had the same interests and hobbies, they had very distinct personalities.  
  
Brandon, the older twin (by only six minutes, Brent will remind you), did have the dominant personality. He would pull Brent along when one of them realized they may have outstayed their welcome, was always the one who came up with reasons or excuses for leaving to make sure that others didn’t recognize that they saw that moment where they switched from endearing to annoying. Always maintained their expertly crafted air of innocence and naiveté. Brandon also tended to be better at reading facial expressions than his brother, who stuck to body language to interpret how people were feeling at any given moment. Brandon spoke more and usually drew more often on regular nights, unless one of them had gotten hurt recently. In which case he turned to videogames to take out his anger at not being able to do anything or not having done anything. It was kind of sweet, really, and the authoritative tone Brandon took when taking care of Dalton sent shivers down his spine. He gave a little shiver just thinking about it and peeked over his arm at the one brother within his line of sight to see if his movement had been noticed. When he found that he hadn’t been discovered, Dalton decided to admire the side of Brent’s face as he continued his pondering.  
  
Brent didn’t have nearly as many piercings as Brandon, which was a little disappointing as Dalton could finally admit he’d love to see those spider-bites wrapped around his dick, being tugged with his girth, but Brandon was less inclined to suck dick than Brent. Both boys had both ears pierced, but Brent rarely wore his, and Brandon only wore his left most days. As he observed the smooth face scrunched up in concentration as the younger man doodled. He licked his lips every once in a while, and it made Dalton smile into his arm. Brent scratched his goateed chin with his middle finger while still holding on to his pencil. He looked down at his paper with a slight frown, and Dalton thought about how truly subtle Brent’s displays of emotion were. While Brandon was openly expressive on Twitter, he tended to bottle things up in real life, whereas Brent was reserved and subtle in both arenas; they’d only openly express happiness together, Brandon would express happiness and anger when his brother wasn’t around. Brent seemed to have an almost magical ability to calm his older brother down with a slight pout or a twist of his lips, or even just by being there.  
  
He tried to remember the exact moment when their relationship switched from friendship to… well, whatever it was that they had.  
  
Dalton realized, before the twins started rooming with him, that at least Brent was into him. Nothing says ‘hey, I kinda find you attractive’ like a hard dick pressed against his back when he’s using The Boys as an ottoman. He certainly noticed that, and he’d be lying if he’d said he didn’t squirm around just the slightest bit to aggravate the erection poking at him through only a couple thin layers of fabric. He noticed how Brandon strategically positioned himself to cover his younger brother’s arousal when Dalton got up. The mustached man couldn’t help but tease the younger man once they got back stage, mentioning the ‘spring’ in his ‘sofa’ that was ‘poking him’.  
  
Until recently, Dalton had always considered himself straight. Well, he still considers himself ‘mostly straight’, which is a legit identity, justifying his attraction to The Boys by thinking of their pretty faces and long hair. Brandon’s pictures on Twitter show off just how lovely indeed his face is, even with the goatee. That plump lower lip, those subtly made-up eyes and neatly trimmed brows do something to Dalton. The angle at which Brandon takes those pictures also makes his jaw look less angular and his nose look shapelier, and that really makes Dalton want to fuck his face. On the other hand, the post-workout pictures that Brent posts, well, those don’t do much for him. When he thinks about Brent’s abs quivering under his touch, he gets a little excited, but it’s really the way the younger brother’s lips part and the shaky moan that escapes that does it for him. He acknowledges that Brent is quite the athlete and has more than earned the right to brag about his physique, but without faces and expressions to be read, without those soft gasps of pleasure, Dalton just finds himself without the ability to get into it. He’s always been that way, even with women’s bodies. Bouncy breasts and a wet pussy are nice, but if you can’t see her face, if you can’t tell if she’s actually enjoying herself, well, what’s the point? That was a big reason why he never tried camming with anyone. Grainy images of what might be a nipple and no discernable face never sounded like that good of an idea to Dalton. Plus, he’d have to wade through throngs of dongs before he found a woman, anyway.  
  
He often finds himself just the slightest bit jealous of Brandon and Brent’s ability to just be who they are, for the most part, anyway, as if there’s no danger in being open about their sexualities. Dalton supposes there isn’t anymore, at least not as much, when your closest friends are a bunch of extremely buff liberals. Dalton snorts and buries his face back in his pillow as he imagines AJ Styles and Donovan Dijak running to the rescue of his boys – and he wonders when he started to refer to them as _his boys_ out of character – who had gotten themselves backed into a corner by some fat, ugly rednecks who keep telling the boys they’ve got ‘purdy mouth’s and calling them ‘faggots’. He outright laughs when he imagines the other two, Styles and Dijak, running up and, instead of laying the smackdown on the rednecks, AJ calmly explains why what they’re doing is wrong, while Donovan rips open his jacket and reveals a Str8 against h8 shirt while glaring menacingly down at them. His laugh turns into a groan of pain when a searing surge of anguish lights up his lower back and shoots up his spine. The sound fades into a soft, surprised moan when he jerks his hips and arches his back at the pain, but finds himself grinding an erection into the mattress.  
  
He wished he’d changed into sweatpants instead of jeans.  
  
Brandon paused his game and turned immediately to Dalton, dropping the controller on the floor and instantly forgetting it, resting his left hand on the back of Dalton’s right thigh, and the latter actually bites the pillow as he fights warring desires to yelp in pain and to wriggle until Brandon’s hand is between his legs. He manages to wrangle his urges down to a small gasp. Brent is at his other side in an instant and it’s almost sensory overload when fingers thread in his hair and push it back out of his eyes.  
  
“Hey, what’s going on?” Brandon asked, gently stroking his fingers over the denim.  
  
“I’ll go get an icepack,” Brent says, hopping off the bed, which he’d only had one knee on. He heads to a mini-fridge, and when Dalton hears it open, he feels justified in having spent money on this hotel room, opting out of the one that the company would have paid for.  
  
“Be careful,” Dalton bites out when he feels Brent hovering over his back.  
  
“Give it here,” Brandon suggests, and Dalton can feel them passing the cold compress. “When was the last time you ate?” Brandon asks, straightening out Dalton’s shirt. Dalton groans in exasperation, sighing softly when the older twin’s free hand gently touches and slowly strokes his lower back. He can feel the coolness through his shirt. “Don’t take that tone with me,” Brandon says playfully.  
  
“I’m pretty hungry,” Brent offers helpfully. “I can go pick something up. What do we want?”  
  
“Pizza,” Dalton huffs.  
  
“I’m gonna put the icepack on now,” Brandon says, and lays it right on the spot that smarts the most when he moves, “and pizza? Really?” Dalton huffs again.  
  
“I can have junk food every once in a while,” he grouses, moving to push his hair out of his face. He grimaces and Brent reaches out to move his hair back for him.  
  
“Not saying you can’t, but that’s, like, your go-to junk food,” Brandon says, his free hand moving up to rub at Dalton’s shoulders one at a time, gently.  
  
“It’s greasy, it’s cheesy, it’s meaty,” Dalton says like he’s cutting a promo and the twins chuckle, “and we should get some before hunger gets us.”  
  
“I’ll go order,” Brent declares, climbing off the bed once more. “Same as always, I assume?”  
  
Dalton grunts an affirmative and once more wonders why he ever resisted this relationship. His boys take such good care of him, and he tries to return the favor whenever he’s not in excruciating pain. Apparently he’s doing something right if the boys have stayed with him even after creative handed them over to Silas. Some days he thinks that, rather than the boys coming to him from protection from newbie hazing, they could tell that he was someone who liked to lick his wounds in private and wanted to bring _him_ out of _his_ shell. Most days he thinks that’s hilarious (with a derisive snort for good measure), but as Brent gives him the tiniest smile as he slides the glass door open and pushes the plastic blinds back to step out on the balcony, he thinks that _his_ boys may have him all figured out. That, just maybe, they could tell not all of his posturing and playfulness stemmed from an honest and true confidence as he tries to display.  
  
That’s not to say that Dalton has a particularly low self-esteem, because he doesn’t. He just sometimes worries about sharing his real opinions with his coworkers, as he has to deal with these people on an at least weekly basis for the extent of his contract, so he deflects with humor as often as possible. Then, of course, there’s the even rarer occasions where he finds himself too annoyed with people to be himself with them. The twins never seem to have that problem. Or, at least, if they do, it never shows. They’re always all smiles and laughter and pretty, glistening lips (and they wear makeup to the ring on their lips to make them look more pale, which was something Dalton found curious) and expressive eyebrows – usually jovially raised or wriggling suggestively.  
  
Dalton feels stiff, and he wants to move, but Brandon sees this coming and lets the icepack rest on his lower back and leans over him. He presses the raising body down and starts to rub his shoulders, Dalton’s will to argue melting away with the tension there. “We’ll help you stretch out when the food gets here, ok? Just relax for now,” the older twin says, looking toward the sliding door when Brent comes back in.  
  
“Aren’t I usually the one stretching you?” Dalton teases, letting his words trail off into a moan when Brandon clicks his tongue and digs his thumbs into his lats.  
  
“Half an hour,” Brent says, and moves to the end of the bed. He pries off Dalton’s shoes and socks and shoves them under the bed before taking one of the older man’s feet in hand, digging his thumbs in. Before long, Dalton’s mind is blank.  
  
He’d lost his train of thought somewhere along wondering what their families would think if they knew about this relationship the three of them had. From what he’s gathered, he knows that the twin’s parents know that they’re not exactly straight, but if they knew that they were dating (and were they even dating?) the same man, and even that they sometimes made out for his viewing pleasure, well, he can’t imagine that going down very well.  
  
But he can’t even think about that until Brandon’s hands let up. The older brother asks how he’s feeling, and when he responds with a wobbly “mmhm”, Brandon just chuckles and takes the icepack back to the refrigerator. Brent finishes up his foot massage, making sure both feet get equal treatment before running his palms up Dalton’s calves. The erection that had been waning before with his though process and the intense pain before his boys started rubbing him had returned with a vengeance. He groaned and gave a few thrusts against the mattress, but Brandon wasn’t having any of that, giving his thigh a playful smack.  
  
“We’ll take care of you after we actually take care of you. Food first, then I’ll rub some stuff on your back, then you can have some painkillers and we’ll take care of that while the painkillers kick in,” Brandon advises as Brent rubs small circles in the calves beneath his hands with his thumbs.  
  
“If you rub anything on me, I’m going to have to rub one out,” Dalton groans.  
  
“Smartass,” Brandon says with a chuckle, leaning toward Dalton’s upper body, pushing his older lover’s hair out of his eyes. He holds Dalton’s head back for a moment and just looks at him with this soft smile on his face and the older man feels almost vulnerable. Not in a physical way per se, but rather mentally and emotionally. He feels like Brandon can see more than he’d ever be comfortable sharing with anyone short of someone he’d already introduced to the fam and had considered proposing to. It’s just shy of liberating and wholly unnerving how the brat makes him feel, so he breaks eye contact and looks down to Brandon’s lips. His own part when Brent gets serious about massaging his calves. Brandon steals a kiss before moving away to pick up his controller and shut off the console. He packs it up while Brent lavishes the older man’s legs with affection.  
  
Once the rubbing stops, Brent curls up next to Dalton, pressing his face into the older man’s ribs and curling his arms around himself. His left just barely brushes Dalton’s side, and it tickles slightly, but not enough to cause any real discomfort. With the game system safely packed away, Brandon joins them on the bed, laying on his side facing Dalton, face propped up on one hand while the fingers of his other pet the older man’s hair.  
  
The mustached man tries to find his derailed train of thought, but his affectionate boys make his brain feel like mush when they’re this sweet and cuddly. He’s fairly certain they know what they do to him, and that is a mildly irritating thought. There’s nothing quite like having a couple of young studs ( _too pretty to be ‘studs’_ ) doing nearly everything for you. Dalton nearly laughs out loud when he thinks they’d probably piss for him if they could.  
  
Finally getting the train back on track, he thinks about what to call their relationship. When that turns up nothing fruitful, he tries to determine what others might call it – and that leads down a somewhat dark road. He can almost hear it; “ _disgusting_ ”, “ _unnatural_ ”, “ _incestuous_ ”, and that last one applies more to the twins than him, but he’s sure people would call him “an enabler” or something of the sort. Which, really, should be water off a duck’s ass at this point. Hell, he’s made people think he’s into beastiality just for shock value. He humped a pig for a segment on his radio show, once mimicked face-fucking a goat to the shock and disgust of the petting zoo workers. There weren’t any kids around and his friends had a camera, so, _meh?_ Incest doesn’t bother him as much as it used to. _As long as no one is having any kids_ , he thinks, _who really cares_? If they want kids that badly, they can adopt. He’s fairly set in that mindset for most people, but rarely voices it, and his views on taboo and sexuality have been reduced to _just use protection and don’t hurt anyone… unless they’re into that_ in recent days. Yet… He can’t quite bring himself to be public with the boys.  
  
He wonders why that is. Most of the locker room is liberal as fuck. Hell, probably a third of the roster is bi. He knows for certain that Bobby Fish and Kyle O’Reilly have fooled around. They’re not steady and they prefer women, but they’re not ashamed of being friends with benefits. Chris Sabin is openly bi, which sometimes makes Kazarian a little uncomfortable, but Christopher Daniels is always there to mediate that tension. Daniels is also fairly open about having had a wild streak in what he likes to call his ‘college days’, before he met his wife, so finding out that some man is onto rather ‘vanilla’ sex with other men (like Sabin) doesn’t phase him at all. Mandy Leon and Veda Scott, or rather Lindsey - though she does answer to Veda and Ms. Scott, and doesn’t ask people to attempt to pronounce her real last name - are openly bi, and they’re fun to talk to about the construction of the conceptualization of human sexuality. They both took some sociology courses in their college days, and it shows. Matt Sydal gets an erection if he’s carried around on a larger man’s back for a while, but he’s never said anything either way about his sexuality, leaving most to wonder (if they care). Though he has been caught staring at women when he goes out drinking with others and always gets red in the face when someone points it out. Rhett Titus enjoys making the less progressive members of the roster really uncomfortable with somewhat malleable sexual expression. Kazarian is a frequent target for those like Rhett, and the Briscoes play along, but always end up losing any game of gay chicken. Rhett does have a son who shares his last name, so that leaves most to believe that he is married. Dalton doesn’t question it. When asked about his sexuality, Moose had said “a hole’s a hole” with a shrug of his massive shoulder, then added the caveat that he loves his wife, even if they do argue. AJ Styles and Roderick Strong are proudly allies, even though they’re both straight and fairly religious. Surprisingly, at least it was surprising to Dalton, Donovan Dijak and Ray Rowe have a lot of FCKH8 merchandise. Dijak can be seen in his tight-fitting red shirt with the white heart that has a red equals sign in the middle, or a purple Straight Against Hate hoodie, and Rowe wears a FCKH8 word bubble shirt or a powder blue shirt that reads ‘Racism is not over. But I’m over racism.” (which led to quite a few of the other members of the roster going out to buy the exact same shirt, which Dalton has, or the black version). Caprice Coleman is ambiguous about his sexuality, and Dalton thinks it may be for the same reasons as Rhett; to make those less progressive as uncomfortable as possible. The mustached man also thinks that Coleman is comfortable enough in his own skin to be blunt about who he is and what he likes, but watching Kaz squirm is worth keeping it hidden for the time being. And, for the record, Frankie isn’t homophobic or anything of the sort. He’s just a tad touch-phobic, which makes Dalton think the man went into the wrong career field. It’s astonishing to see the dramatic shift in his personality from when he’s performing to when he’s just Frank. Luckily he found someone equally as touch-phobic in the same line of work, no less, to marry, and they’re very happy together, finally managing a child after three years, which was apparently amazing that it took so long with how fertile they both are (and that was information that Dalton absolutely did not need to hear, especially in casual conversation, thanks). When Nigel is asked if he’s ever had relationships with other men, he chuckles and will only say “Well, let’s just say I did meet Chris during his college days.”  
  
Thinking about the sexualities of those he works with always made him think about his own. Every new tidbit that entered his earhole made him think “ _what about me…?_ ” and he wasn’t exactly sure he liked it. Though, he was starting to think that he was something he conceptualized as ‘feminine attracted’ rather than militantly straight. He’s put a considerable amount of thought into whether or not he’d sleep with a transwoman, and his answer is _yeah, if she’s got a nice face and I can have a decent conversation with her_. And of course, if she’s not frail and breakable looking. Dalton loves talking to Veda, but he could never find her attractive (and honestly, that’s probably what makes the conversation so good) because she’s _tiny_. The idea of a dick bobbing between his partner and he was never an immediate turn off (he’s seen some hentai), but an angular jaw and stubble could be. Was, anyway, before _his_ boys came along. He’s seen Matt Sydal with a shaved face, and the man looked so young. In reality, Dalton only has a few years on the lad, but when Matt’s face is shaved, he’s almost pretty. Not quite enough to spark more than a momentary interest, but the boy looked, well, like a boy – barely an adult. Dalton does suspect that the reason Matt started growing out his beard was his baby face. One of the other Matts on the roster (and he briefly wonders why there are so many Matts in professional wrestling), Matt Jackson, and his little brother Nick are fairly pretty. At least in the face, and they take good care of their hair, but they’re built like light tanks, and their in-your-face personalities (yes, outside of the ring, too) are almost enough to make Dalton’s dick recede up inside of him. That doesn’t mean that he doesn’t get along with them, it just means he’s not attracted to them. Dalton will occasionally engage in a game of gay chicken with Rhett, usually when a group of the guys are out at a bar being little shits and riling up the locals. He’ll even go so far as to let Rhett grope his cock through his jeans and mock a woman’s cries of pleasure until Rhett grows bored of groping his flaccid cock (no attraction there, Rhett is too masculine) and wanders off to harass someone else.  
  
Dalton can admit that he’s been attracted to some rather androgynous men in the past. Men that he thought were women, or transwomen (really, just women either way you slice it), but was disappointed when he came to find out that they did, in fact, identify as men and were very penis-oriented in how they sought pleasure (not that he wasn’t most of the time, but still). Once, several years back, he’d had a chance to at least sleep with (and possibly date, he’d hoped) a brilliant transwoman he’d met at a bar. They’d hit it off really well, and spent most of the night gabbing about politics and philosophy, and she’d had the softest face and natural blonde hair. But, in the end she’d declined both his number and the invitation back to his room as horny drunk men usually missed the blatant way that she told them that she had a dick, and that often ended poorly. Dalton was disappointed, but he understood and wished her well. ( _Wonder what she’s doing these days._ )  
  
The Tate twins weren’t exactly models of femininity. The shy, soft, boy-esque behavior and weakness they expressed at shows was just an act. They were already fairly established in their wrestling style, and it was quite fun to watch. They did enjoy tights that were a bit more on the flamboyant side, but really, who didn’t when they were in their early twenties? Who didn’t when they had the body for them? They knew how to draw the eye right where they wanted it, too, the little fashionistas.  
  
Tonight it was blue-jeans and T-shirts and the only way to tell them apart (if you couldn’t tell the difference between Gears of War and Call of Duty) was that Brandon had a small diamond in his left ear, and Dalton found himself really wanting to play with it at the moment. His arousal had waned considerably in contemplating sexuality and how it relates to his coworkers, but he could still want to see his (boyfriend? Lover?) … _boy_ ’s face and just touch him, couldn’t he? But, being able to touch either boy meant moving, and that wasn’t something he was inclined to do at the moment unless there was food or a blowjob involved. So he relented to more quiet musings as the twins pet his hair and trace patterns on his sides and cotton-clad back with their fingers. There were also those spider bites – Dalton almost forgot – in Brandon’s plush lower lip. How could he have forgotten? That’s what sparked this whole crazy train of thought this evening. He was sure he was beyond questioning this _thing_ they had, but then the little shit shows up with shiny little bits of cubic zirconia accenting his mouth and the urge to take Brandon by the hair and see if his girth is enough to completely block his view of the piercings almost supersedes the pain (God dammit, Adam). Then he starts thinking about everything – like Brent’s entirely too-eager mouth and the way he purposefully gags himself on Dalton’s dick, palming his own while he moans and whines and sucks and does all these crazy little tricks that make Dalton see stars and his knees give out – like Brandon’s hand when he grips both of their lengths and holds them flush together, his grip just slack enough for Dalton to rut against him, to set the pace while Brandon clings about his shoulders with the other arm and whimpers so sweetly - _his_ boys, laying on the bed in just their boxers, shyly touching each other. One well-built leg sliding between two others, a gasp and a head thrown back as hands come up to clutch at the other’s biceps. Lips find flesh, but it’s never really enough to break some sort of taboo. (Like they haven’t bulldozed through most of them already.) They don’t fuck, just fool around enough to make Dalton _want_ and _damn_ does it work.  
  
Dalton can’t help but moan and Brent instantly perks up, worried that the pain is getting to the older man again. Dalton’s dick is so confused, and he wants to say “sorry, buddy”, but bites down on the laugh that bubbles up in his throat because there’s a knock at the door.  
  
“I got it,” Brandon says, pushing himself off the bed while his brother makes sure Dalton is ok.  
  
“I’m fine,” Dalton grouses, making something of an attempt to push himself up. He swats Brent’s hands away when the other moves to support him and turns around to lean against the headboard with a pained groan.  
  
“That excited for pizza?” Brandon teases, eyeing the awkwardly tented fabric of Dalton’s jeans. “I knew you liked pizza, but I didn’t think you liked it _that_ much.”  
  
“Fuckin’ love it. Now give me a slice to hump, or eat, whatever comes first,” Dalton pushed, eyeing the three boxes in the older twin’s hands. Brandon splays the boxes at the foot of the bed and opens one of the larger ones, pushing it toward Dalton, who is almost in awe of the mountain of meats and extra cheese before him.  
  
“Usually eating comes before humping,” Brandon starts, opening the smallest box and staying the hell out of Dalton’s way – because nothing will stop a hungry Dalton Castle from eating an entire pizza by himself – “ya know, because you have to buy ‘em dinner?”  
  
“Speaking of, you should have let me pay,” Dalton groused around a mouthful. The twins had to look at each other for a moment to try to figure out what their older lover had just said. Then they break out into devious little grins.  
  
“It’s ok to let us treat every once in a while,” Brandon says before taking a bite of a rather phallic breadstick. Dalton cringes.  
  
“You ok?” Brent asks, leaning in toward a pained-looking Dalton.  
  
“Yes,” Dalton huffs and shoves the end of a slice into his mouth.  
  
“How are you feeling? For real?” Brandon reiterates for his brother, reaching out to rest his hand on Dalton’s leg, which are stretched out with the pizza box between them.  
  
“I’m ok. Really,” the mustached man answers, moving his hand that has yet to be contaminated by the greasy treat down to the back of Brandon’s hand to rub over his knuckles a few times. “Just a little sore. After some food and another long, warm shower, I’ll be fine.” Brandon’s nostrils flare at the mention of a shower, and Dalton almost blushes. Instead, he busies his face with his food, finishing off the slice before Brandon can even formulate the beginnings of an idea on how to get Dalton to let him bathe him.  
  
“Think you’ll need any more painkillers tonight?” Brandon asks, his voice low. He taps the end of the breadstick he’d been working on against his lips as he waits for an answer.  
  
“Hopefully not,” Dalton answers, eying the other warily.  
  
“Then would you like a drink?” Brandon asks, taking a bite of the breadstick and throwing the rest back in the box.  
  
“Uh, yes, yes I would,” Dalton answers, watching the lean form saunter over to the mini-fridge. Brent watches too, concerned that it hasn’t been long enough since Dalton took painkillers for him to drink. When Brandon returns with one of the small bottles of liquor, Dalton holds his hand out for it. The older man is surprised to find that instead of handing it over, Brandon uncaps the drink and puts it to his lips. He kneels on one knee on the mattress, his leg pressed against Dalton’s thigh as his older boy leans in and cups the back of the older brunette’s head.  
  
“Oh,” Brent gasps while observing his brother share a drink with their lover. He forgets that there is a slice of pizza in his hand and a saucy piece of bell pepper drops down to leave a stain on his jeans.  
  
When Brandon pulls away, he makes a face, but Dalton pulls him back into a kiss, being careful not to wipe his grease-stained hand on the other’s shirt. He tugs on one of the young man’s piercings with his teeth and tries to deepen the kiss, but Brandon gives him a gentle push back, moaning at the pull in the tender area around the metal through his flesh.  
  
“Eat,” he instructs, handing the bottle off to Brent to pick up a slice of his own, out of the box the twins shared. Dalton lets out an irritated groan, but relents and resumes eating – scarfing, really – his food. After another slice is consumed, Brent takes a turn sharing the alcohol with the older man, and he has a little less control of his reaction to the taste;  
  
“That tastes horrible,” he complains.  
  
“Gee, thanks,” Dalton mutters.  
  
“Not you,” Brent clarifies, pressing his lips to his lover’s lightly stubbled jaw. “You taste good,” he whispered before dragging his tongue along the other’s neck, “it’s the alcohol that tastes awful.” Dalton sighs, but can’t do much to touch as the hand closest to his youngest boy is occupied with a slice of pizza and reaching across would lead to unnecessary pain. “Finish eating, and you can have the rest of this, and other things,” Brent said, wiggling the bottle. He sat it on the table he’d been drawing on earlier and turned back to his pizza as his brother turned on the news.  
  
“Other things?” Dalton asked with a raised brow and a little smirk. He bit into his third slice, watching Brent as he did.  
  
“Like a bath,” Brandon said, finally finishing the breadstick he’d started as soon as the food had arrived after putting away two slices of a supreme.  
  
“A shower,” Dalton corrects around the crust he stuffs in his mouth. Brandon huffs and stares the older man down. “A shower,” he says again, slower. “Man, why do you want to bathe me so bad? Blow me if you want to bathe me.”  
  
“Ok,” Brandon answers, more serious than Dalton thinks the situation calls for.  
  
“W-what?” the mustached man stammers, nearly dropping the slice of pizza he’d just picked up.  
  
“I’ll blow you if you just relax and let us take care of you for the rest of the night afterward,” Brandon says, briefly exchanging a look with his brother, who can’t help buy grin around his fourth slice of pizza. “I saw you lookin’ at my mouth all night,” he says and leans forward over Dalton, bringing his lips close enough to the other to brush his cheek as he speaks; “I know what the piercings do to you.” Dalton takes a shallow breath and can feel the short puffs of breath against his skin as Brandon chuckles. “You take such good care of us, you should let us return the favor.”  
  
In that moment, Dalton can’t think of a single nice thing he’s done for his boys. Sure, he’s invited them to stay with him when he stays at a different (better) hotel, and sure, he’s bought them food, but those aren’t really that big of a deal. Sure, he’s bought them a videogame, but friends do that for each other. ( _…don’t they?_ ) He cuddles with them when they’re feeling particularly affectionate, holds icepacks to their bumps and bruises, and shares his painkillers (though they’re usually turned down), but none of that takes any particularly special effort. He doesn’t think the sex can be especially spectacular for the boys, either, because it’s usually one of the boys giving Dalton head while he whispers sweet or dirty things (depending on his mood or the boy) between filthy, needy kisses from the other boy. The young men usually get themselves off, too, tugging on their cocks while using their mouths and free hands to bring Dalton off. He’d even been inside Brent on a couple of occasions, but had been skeptical about the younger man’s supposed enjoyment of the act with the way his erection had flagged. Also in that moment, he found himself wanting to buy Brandon real diamonds for his lip to match the precious one in his ear, and something for Brent, too. Maybe a necklace, a chain. A thick one of platinum that he can twist his fingers in and tug because the younger brother sometimes likes a little roughness.  
  
“Here,” Brent says, holding the small bottle to Dalton’s lips. He lets the younger brother tip it up and he drinks what remained.  
  
“Finish eating,” Brandon says, taking possession of the slice of pizza previously in Dalton’s hand. He takes a bite off of the end and moans quietly before holding the slice out for his older mate to eat. After a few bites, Dalton turns his head away.  
  
“I’m done,” he announces.  
  
“You didn’t even eat half,” Brandon coos in a concerned fashion.  
  
“Oh well?” Dalton asks, one eyebrow raised. “We have a microwave if I get hungry later.”  
  
“I guess so,” Brandon says, setting what remains of the slice back in its box. Brent stacks the remnants of the pizza in the smaller box so it will fit in the mini-fridge while Brandon carefully straddles Dalton and pets his hair. Dalton leans into the touch and lifts his hands to place them on Brandon’s hips, but remembers that one is still greasy and he hasn’t had a chance to wipe it on anything yet. “It’s alright,” Brandon says, taking one hand from the curly hair to press them against himself, “my clothes will be coming off in a little bit, anyway.”  
  
And that sly grin does _things_ to Dalton like nothing else ever has. The way Brandon tugs on his lower lip with his teeth when Dalton pulls him closer has him throbbing against his zipper. He briefly wonders how the boys ( _boys! MY boys_ ) got into his head like this to make everything hazy and terrifyingly wonderful before Brent joins them, running his fingers along the older man’s arm. Logical thought flies out the window when Brandon steals a quick and dirty kiss, making sure to scrape his piercings against Dalton’s lips when he pulls away and starts making his way down his lover’s body. Brent steals a few kisses of his own, his right hand worming it’s way under Dalton’s shirt as Brandon works at his jeans. Brandon takes him by the hips and moves him down the bed as he tugs the older man’s jeans down to mid-thigh, watching his cock bounce against his stomach after it’s freed with hooded eyes. Brent helps ease the obviously still-pained older man recline and rucks up his shirt to kiss and mouth at Dalton’s right nipple.  
  
Dalton’s mind is blissfully blank of anything but those sparkling gems in Brandon’s lip as he opens his mouth to take the swollen cock presented to him. Dalton hisses as his length disappears into the hot moisture, and _yes_ , those piercings disappear under his girth. The mustached man throws his head back and his groan isn’t entirely one of pleasure. Brent helpfully slides his left arm under Dalton’s neck and just cradles him against his side, pushing his hair back so his lover can watch his brother, who so infrequently was willing to do this, lave his cock with attention.  
  
It takes nearly twice as long as usual for Dalton to get off, the pain a constant dampener on his pleasure, but his boys are nothing if not patient. Brandon rubbed Dalton’s hips, and massaged his tensed sides while Brent whispered words of encouragement and held him still. It’s nearly a full minute after Dalton announces that he’s going to cum that he finally does, the strain on his back from trying to thrust his hips into that sinful mouth keeping him on the edge.  
  
Brandon takes it well, swallowing around the throbbing cock and teasing out every last drop, his hands still holding the other man’s hips in place. When the older twin finally pulls back and lets his mouth hang open to take several deep breaths, a pearl of semen-and-saliva drips from the corner of his mouth, his lower lip even more swollen than usual, to cling beautifully to the gem there. He slurps it up as Dalton curls into Brent and just shakes for a moment, breathing heavily. Brandon finds his soda and takes a long pull to get the distinct and unpleasant taste out of his mouth then puts it back in the refrigerator. He joins the two cuddling on the bed, spooning up closely behind Dalton, who can feel Brandon’s erection, but he’s thankful that the other doesn’t press the issue. They simply hold him until his breathing evens out and his shaking calms and he feels a lot better and far more relaxed than he thought himself capable of at the moment. (Dammit, Adam.)  
  
But, as luck would have it, they weren’t done with him yet.  
  
After about ten minutes of silently enjoying the closeness, Brandon asks; “Ready for that bath?”  
  
Dalton groans because, _no_ , he isn’t. He wants to just lay in his boys’ arms and sleep, but he does realize that he will feel better in the morning if he soaks in some hot water, so he relents when the twins help him roll over and he feels so silly with his jeans at mid-thigh and his shirt rucked up under his armpits, but his clothes are gone in a matter of seconds – Brent taking his shirt and Brandon wrestling (ironically) with his jeans and briefs and socks.  
  
Brandon shucks his own shirt and scoops up an indignant Dalton, carrying him to the bathroom, leaving a laughing Brent in their wake. Dalton complains loudly until Brandon lets him stand on his own and starts filling the tub. When the older man climbs in, Brandon shucks his shirt and starts lathering a washcloth. Dalton groans in appreciation as Brandon meticulously washes every inch of his skin above the water, save for his face, and peppers his head with little kisses. Being taken care of like that is such a strange thing, and it lulls Dalton into a near-sleep state that he only rouses from when he feels the rough cloth on his still-sensitive genitals. When the careful cleaning doesn’t let up, he grabs the older twin’s arm.  
  
“I- I can’t again right now, babe. I just can’t,” Dalton whines.  
  
“Shh, shh,” Brandon instructs, moving the cloth onward to other areas, “wasn’t trying to. Just tryin’ to get you nice ‘n’ clean.” And he does, even running the cloth between the older man’s toes. “I’ve got you.”  
  
A few minutes pass with the only sounds being Dalton’s pleased sighs and Brandon’s happy humming, the faucet occasionally breaking up the quiet song to add more hot water to the bath. The older man notices that Brandon’s jeans are still tented, that he’s enjoying pampering Dalton far too much.  
  
“You’re still-“  
  
“Don’t worry about it,” Brandon says with a shake of his head.  
  
“But, I wanna,” Dalton says, reaching out for his younger lover’s face. His touch is gentle and reverent, and Brandon leans into it. He’s quiet for a moment before letting out a soft sigh.  
  
“What do you wanna do?”  
  
“Touch you,” Dalton admits, “make you feel good.”  
  
“You already make me feel good,” Brandon says, even as he drops the cloth in the tub and flicks open the button of his jeans.  
  
“Wanna jerk you off. That better?” Dalton snarks as he lathers his hand with shower gel. Brandon huffs out a laugh and leans up to steal a kiss while Dalton makes a loose fist around the younger man’s cock. Brandon’s breath is limited to a series of soft gasps and long sighs between kisses, thrusting shallowly into the tunnel the other’s fingers make.  
  
“So good to me,” Brandon whispers, his lips brushing the wet skin of Dalton’s neck. “Taking care of me even when I’m taking care of you,” he gasps out. The position he’s in is an awkward one, knelt on one knee, one hand in Dalton’s hair, the other bracing himself on the tub as he ruts into the slick fist as Dalton rests his wrist against the inner edge of the tub. “Not gonna be much longer,” he pants, “been too excited for too long. So good to me, Dalton,” and the name is barely a breath and soon Brandon is gasping against a wet shoulder, his eyes closed tight as he reaches his peak. His fingers tighten in Dalton’s hair and he stills as he pulses. Dalton’s cock gives an interested twitch at the sight, but he knows there’s no way in hell he’s going again.  
  
After a minute of silence and a nearly pained whimper, Brandon fishes the cloth out of the sullied water and rises it under the tap with hot water. He washes Dalton’s hand before bringing it to his lips. He kisses each finger individually and treats the palm to a warm, wet one before placing it on his cheek and holding it there.  
  
He kisses Dalton, slow and sweet, and it contrasts with what Dalton expects; the hungry kisses he usually gets from his boys, and the light pecks they give him otherwise. He feels like he might fall asleep, lulled by Brandon’s plush lips, though the occasional brush of cubic zirconia keeps him awake.  
  
“How’re you feeling?” Brandon asks.  
  
“Shouldn’t I be asking you that?”  
  
At that moment, Brent pokes his head in.  
  
“Can I pee?” he asks and both Dalton and Brandon snicker.  
  
“I dunno, can you?” Brandon teases.  
  
“Jackass,” Brent shoots back. “Will it bother you if I take a leak?”  
  
“As long as it’s not on me. I just got clean again,” Dalton quips. So Brent rushes in to do his business and Brandon steals another kiss. “Ah,” Dalton starts teasingly, “nothing more romantic than kissing you while sitting in jizzed-in water to the sounds of your brother urinating.”  
  
“Sorry,” Brent says and grabs up one of the fluffy towels from the rack over the toilet. “Time to sleep?” he asks as he hands over the cloth to his brother. He takes another one down and helps Brandon dry an abnormally compliant Dalton.  
  
Brandon shucks his pants and cleans himself up while Brent leads their lover to the bed, which already has the covers pulled back. Brandon curls up with Dalton and waits for his brother to change into a pair of sweats. The older twin flicks off the overhead lights, but leaves the TV on. He crawls into bed and pulls the blanket up to his shoulder and spoons up against a completely nude Dalton, who is sharing unusually soft, closed-eye kisses with his brother. The twins make eye contact over Dalton and smile at each other.  
  
“Hey, no one… I mean, do you need…?”  
  
“No,” Brent says, taking one of Dalton’s hands in both of his. “I took care of that while you were in the bath. Everything I need right now, I have.”  
  
Dalton blushes and turns his head away as his boys snuggle up to him, Brent rubbing his lips over the other’s mustache affectionately.  
  
He’s definitely on the verge of sleep, but a few stray thoughts flutter by as he observes Brent in the TV light and feels the hard heat of Brandon at his back. He’s happy, and there’s no questioning that. Everything is warm and soft when it needs to be and hard and cool or cold when it needs to be. His boys are so good to him, he realizes in his last moment of clarity before sleep’s pull becomes too tough to fight. They definitely love him back, even if the words are left unspoken. The future is hella uncertain, but for now… Well. He has more to think about at a later date, but he’s perfectly content at the moment.  
  
He might just have to send Adam a thank you card.

**Author's Note:**

> I had intended this to be more smutty, but cuteness happened instead. If anyone likes this, I may do an additional chapter. I can't promise it any time soon, as school is kicking my ass right now, but maybe another plot bunny will possess me over the winter break.


End file.
